Dead Men Tell No Tales
by titanicavatar
Summary: Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki are supposed to be rival cops. Emphasis on "supposed".


Dead men tell no tales.

Not that Yuuri has heard from any. He's heard from people alive and well, people who've advised him against transferring to this precinct, who have in their gentlest words called the place "the closest thing to Dante's seventh circle of hell". Who said that the precinct acquires such a high number of felony arrests only because the area is jam-packed with criminals.

"You see how this works, Katsuki," is how Sergeant Giacometti's personalised welcome speech/warning began from across the coffee machine. The machine's strategically placed under the dead eye of the bustling workplace to make sure there's no place to snooze off.

Frankly, when Yuuri was asked to meet up there, he'd half-expected some sort of newbie prank to be played on him, something in line with the place's reputation. But it was just the sergeant, bright-eyed and batting his cow-lashes, asking to call him "Chris," telling him first names are the stepping stones to _inclusion._

"I know you're ambitious. The idea is to take it slow. Get to know everyone. There you see that guy," he points at the poker-faced man with noticeably thick eyebrows, staring at the monitor like he wonders how he isn't already dead, "That's Seung-Gil Lee. Nobody knows anything about him. I once asked him where he studied and he told me to _eat_ _shit_. There are, however, strange rumours that he likes dogs. Proceed with caution.

That one over there," this time it's a young blond boy sitting at the corner, scowling at his sandwich, "that's Yuri Plisetsky. Used to be a perp, hacked into our systems so we made him our IT specialist. That's a win-win situation, right? Ah, and if he punches you in the face it might mean he likes you. Don't make too much of it.

"There's Phichit Chulanont, one of our civilian administrators. Speaks in abbreviations. Or in just generally weird words. I mean, who says _lum-faao_ out loud?

"Those, two detectives, Mila and Sara, friendly, tough, can and will bench press you.

"That's our captain, Yakov Feltsman, grumpy all the time. Tries to be tough, actually a big softie.

"And finally, my best detective over there, Victor Nikiforov. _The Big Baby._ Solves everyone's cases in return for paperwork favours. Want to torture him? Just give him a lot of paperwork to do. He's actually older than me. He'd have made sergeant before if he were actually serious about getting ahead. I really think you can break his perp record, Katsuki."

The sergeant concludes with a tidbit about himself, "And if you ever receive a porn forward from me, you know my mail's hacked."

That was six months ago. During which Yuuri has accidentally bumped into Seung-Gil and his husky one unfortunate evening, been punched by Yuri Plisetsky twice, mistakenly forwarded one of Chris's porn prank to a superior, made best friends with Phichit and still hasn't understood why Victor Nikiforov never addresses him on a first-name basis when he does so with everyone else.

"Good morning, detective."

Yuuri looks up to find a pair of striking blue eyes and a light slam of a file on his table. Heat flares up his cheeks, his forehead, perhaps every inch of his skin. Victor pulls out a chair and sits opposite him, "Guess what happened. I wake up, I stop at Starbucks, I'm strolling down the street, coffee in my hand and not a care in the world when a crook tries to pickpocket me."

"Paperwork?" Yuuri finishes his anticlimactic story when he waits out the next minute. Victor's eyes search for sarcasm; there isn't any, really, and they light up instantly.

"Please?"

"Okay, but last favour of the month," Yuuri tries to be strict, makes sure his voice doesn't sound shaky. Victor's almost four years senior to him and the most popular detective in the cop circles for his all-time arrest record. And thus it doesn't come as a matter of surprise that Yuuri harbours a tiny crush – uh, _admiration_ , admiration is the word – on the man.

The air of magnificence around his name, however, has eventually thinned out. Yuuri has partnered him on a few cases. Victor – in real – is dorky, friendly, way more hardworking than Chris made it look like and really struggles with teamwork. By some grand ironic joke of the universe, his popularity and his attempts at close friendships fall at bitter odds with each other. He's closest with Chris though. Maybe it's an age thing.

He's quite cute too.

"So I guess I'll see you in the break room," Victor says, as his eyes search around like he's running out of topics to touch upon, "or in a while when Chris talks about this month's crime stats."

Yuuri stiffens against the waft of breeze as Victor swooshes past him, then plops his head on the desk. _Pathetic_ is the word, _pathetic_ is what he is. They have so much in common – solving curious crimes, owning pet poodles, a shared love for figure skating, and yet he cannot make normal conversation with Victor without setting his ears on fire.

Pathetic.

* * *

"Katsuki has the highest number of arrests this month," Chris announces in the briefing room, "ladies and gentlemen, Nikiforov has been dethroned!"

That was the cue for Yuuri to blush furiously. The axis to his world shifts – where did that champagne come from, why is there exploding confetti and a unanimous yell of approval? – when Phichit jumps on him and wraps him for a half-hug half-selfie. "Look at that, geezer," from the corner of his eye Yuuri sees Plisetsky – what's the boy even doing in this room? – sneer at Victor, "now just _retire_."

Victor brushes it off with a grin but it stings Yuuri like a jab of a needle to the chest. Sure Yuuri is ambitious, but he'd never want his career to get in way of Victor's. He's nothing out of the ordinary, after all. If that's how it goes, Yuuri won't think twice if he needs to...

"Detective," he feels a hand on his shoulder and his insides unceremoniously back flip, "congratulations."

He smiles. "Um, thanks, Victor."

" _What?_ " Yuri Plisetsky is flabbergasted for some reason, "No, no. That's not how it works. Be bitter rivals. _Hate_ each other! What is with the false _camaraderie_?!"

"What movies have you been watching?"

("80s gangsta-types," Victor whispers into Yuuri's ear without warning, and as much as it accelerates his poor heart, they share a quiet giggle.

" _Betrayal never comes from the enemy,_ sire _._ " He manages to match wits, they laugh again, and Yuri wants to die.)

"Yes, gang up on me, pig, when I'm taking your side," Yuri scoffs. He's right; it almost qualifies as a _Ripley's Believe It or Not!_ stint. The only viable theory could be that he hates Victor more.

The champagne tastes icky and is sent out of the room as soon as the captain enters. The commotion settles and cases are assigned. Fingers tapping on the table, Yuuri takes in a deep breath. His shirt's uncomfortably stuck with his body. He sure has been sweating, having taken his nerves on a sugar high. He turns his head – all so slightly – then sends his body into an icy frisson. It's hardly his fault; Victor's looking at him. Eyeing him with interest.

He smiles, and Victor smiles back. Maybe they _can_ talk over the copier, be friends. Perhaps he can find out how Victor likes to spend his spare time, whether he has friends outside work or a friend at all, what television he likes, what kind of pizza toppings he prefers...

Except this is the office, and no one cares about _camaraderie._ Suddenly, just like that – like it's an actual big deal, like it wasn't some fluke, like Victor doesn't have an upper-hand of three whole years on him – the _dethroning_ becomes the raging talk of the precinct. And it only escalates from there.

 _ **Group chat: Where's the crime at Peeps**_

 _ **Chris:**_ _I bet three days' lunch that Victor's gonna steal his spot back_

 _ **Mila**_ : _lol cheap_

 _ **Mila:**_ _bet better_

Yuuri sighs at his buzzing phone. Not again.

 _ **Yuuri:**_ _Guys seriously, it's been three days_.

Why are they so bent on making Victor hate him?

 _ **Chris:**_ _Ohoho Yuuri is threatened_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _Don't worry Yuuri your man is here B-)_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _Chris, either stop or step it up_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _I didn't even know you brought lunch to work_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _Bet your money weak-ass_

 _ **Mila:**_ _lol that's what I said_

 _ **Chris:**_ _What makes you think my ass is weak, literally and figuratively_

 _ **Chris:**_ _100 dollars?_

 _ **Yurio:**_ _money is boring_

 _ **Mila:**_ _cheerio wants more emotion_

 _ **Yurio:**_ _shut it hag. Katsuki bet your dog._

 _ **Mila:**_ _bad idea cheerio_

 _ **Yuuri:**_ _..._

 _ **Yuuri:**_ _Thank you, Mila._

 _ **Phichit**_ _: Soooo worst case they exchange leashes, go to a park and walk their dogs. That's your idea of a war Yuri? XD_

 **[Yuuri left]**

 **[Chris added Yuuri]**

 _ **Chris**_ _: Where do you think you are going Katsuki_

 _ **Victor:**_ _Hello there! 3_

 _ **Victor:**_ _Yuuri_ , _you're welcome to walk Makkachin anytime_. _But don't bank any hope on next month. ;)_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _OH SHIT_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _OH SHIT_

 _ **Mila:**_ _Fuck_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _Yuuri hop on_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _Yuuuuuuri_

 _ **Yurio:**_ _GODDAMIT BURN HIS HIDEOUS PINK CADILLAC KATSUDON_

 _ **Chris:**_ _You scared him Victor, it's not nice_

 _ **Sara:**_ _Okay guys let's not force Yuuri in this if he doesn't want to I mean_

 _ **Yuuri:**_ _Sorry guys, I was just googling how to burn a car. Do you think gasoline's gonna go down next month or should I start stocking now?_

 _ **Sara:**_ _let the boy live_

 _ **Sara:**_ _wait what_

 _ **Mila:**_ _..._

 _ **Phichit:**_ _..._

 _ **Phichit:**_ _FML_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _is it actually happening_

 _ **Phichit:**_ _We are witnessing history people_

 _ **Yurio:**_ _we are burning the car yesss_

 _ **Chris:**_ _IF he wins that is_

 _ **Chris:**_ _So let me get this straight_

 _ **Chris:**_ _If Yuuri wins, he takes the car, is that right?_

 _ **Chris:**_ _And if Victor wins...?_

And that is it. Yuuri doesn't want to read anymore. He plunges the phone under three layers of blankets. Opens up the windows to let the traffic sounds in, sets the TV up to its highest volume. Frankly, he's surprised he's still hearing notification pings with his heart drumming _that_ loud against his ribcage.

He doesn't want to set anyone's car on fire, it's crazy. Yes, he's a teensy bit competitive but it was all in the spirit of a joke, right? He just went up against Victor and proposed to burn his car. Victor must be planning to sledgehammer him at his job. A strange mixture of guilt and arousal – _arousal, really?_ – trebles in his veins when he slumps back on his pillow. And by Murphy's Law, under three layers of denial, he feels the device buzz right under his head.

 _ **Victor:**_ _If I win, Yuuri has to go out on a date with me. WHILST I make sure it's the most embarrassing time of his life. :)_

Yuuri drops the phone.

* * *

"That was very subtly done," Chris comments over lunch the next day, "You were real smooth."

Victor narrows his eyes at him. "I really can't make out if you're sarcastic."

"Victor, if you were any less subtle, you'd have popped out of his phone screen with a rose between your teeth and a ring in your hand."

"You know what, six months. I've been trying for six months. I don't care if I'm not subtle anymore."

Victor thwacks his can of soda back on the table with a sudden finality, and then glares, half in desperation and half in I'm-not-in-all-parts-responsible-for-the-mess-I'm-in. It's true, though. Chris modified his hyper-energetic, freakishly punctual nature into a walking trope of _cas_ (casual or cassanova? Chris said it's a bit of both). Chris said easy-going looks attractive and goes with his public image.

Now, six months in, and none of it has yielded any palpable result. On top of it, Chris called him _The Big Baby_ in front of Yuuri and doomed him from the start ("The Big Baby? What kind of a nickname is that?" Victor chastised him later, "It's not attractive, it reminds me of an actual toddler toy I saw in a movie with my nephew. Like Chucky, but _bigger_!"). Although, it did give him an excuse to go over and talk to Yuuri over minor paperwork, so he can't really whine.

"He's new," Victor mumbles, worriedly spacing out through the opaque window pane, "you'd think I ought to mentor him, not push him like this. What if he quits?"

Chris chokes over his juice. "Quit? Yuuri Katsuki?"

Head nesting in his arms, his expression flips from concerned to dreamy. "Yeah, I know. He's great, isn't he?"

"You lovesick fool. It's just a month. You can always mentor him after the bet. Plus, a bit of rivalry breeds sexual tension. Haven't you ever been insanely attracted to someone you hate?"

"... No."

"That's because you're a nerd. _Buuuuut_ maybe Yuuri is a normal person."

In usual cases, Victor would've given up. But then he remembers that party the crew had thrown for the newcomers, where, thanks to crippling anxiety and knowing no one, Yuuri got drunk on sixteen flutes of champagne and -

"I feel like we had a connection," Victor sighs, "Remember that newcomer party where he cradled my head in his _strong, powerful_ _but soft_ arms and asked me to dance?"

"I'd have forbidden you to ever describe anyone's arms again but wow, that's exactly how they were like when we got on that pole."

"He never mentioned it again," he continues, devastated and dramatic, "he behaves like the night never existed."

"Oh c'mon, Victor," Chris shakes off his worries with a flap of his hand, "he's probably just embarrassed to bring it up. Don't give up hope so soon. You two are gonna get together, I can feel it in my balls –"

"– bones –"

"Yes, yes. I can feel it in my _bones,_ cheri."

* * *

"He's playing with your head," Yuri(o) Plisetsky shouts from across the room when he purposely overhears Yuuri's conversation with Phichit. "He's trying to get _mental_ with you." He adds for effect, "Not _physical_. Mental."

Yuuri throws him back an expression as close as humanly possible to a question mark, then turns back to his steaming coffee. Phichit gives off a small laugh, then goes back to stress upon his original point, " _Or,_ he might actually be interested in you."

 _Okay_ , every time Yuuri hears this, it just keeps getting more and more incredulous. Maybe, just maybe, Victor is keen about someone who "dethroned" him, but that's that. That's where it ends. The whole _date_ thing is only to humiliate Yuuri, or maybe it's just some nonsense that popped off the top of Victor's head during the group chat. It's equivalent to Yuuri burning his car; neither is going to happen.

"Yurio's right," Yuuri surrenders, "it's probably just nothing and I'm losing my mind over it."

Phichit rolls his eyes, then rolls out his chair to click a better picture of his lunch, mumbling under his breath.

Yuuri furrows his eyebrows at him. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. _Nothing!_ "

Yuuri figures a hushed " _party_ " and a strange emphasis on " _that_ ". Yuuri can't really remember the last time he went to party. There was one right when he joined the precinct but it was too low-key to deserve a mention six months later. Also, nothing _really_ happened there; he blacked out on champagne and its nasty hangover took two days to dissipate.

He looks up at the sight of Victor walking in – his hand, as if in rebellion, rises on its own for a gentle wave. Victor notices him before that, and not subtly either – hae stumbles into a pause (maybe the carpet had a rough patch) and then smiles. Like it was a different Victor last night. Regardless, Yuuri smiles back, his insides twisting into a French braid.

Behind Yuuri, there's a sigh and a _thunk_ of a head to the table.

Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki are supposed to be rivals. Emphasis on " _supposed_ ".

* * *

 **ayyyy happy new yearrrr**


End file.
